Their Story
by Winter Snow1
Summary: *Chapter 7!*Braska's Pilgrimage- REWRITE! (Formerly Bounty Hunter Lani). I got rid of my old reviews since I decided to rewrite. Let me know what you think of the new one.
1. Prologue

_*Note: After playing Final Fantasy X again and noting some things, I felt that this story was not true to what happened. My theories changed and I believe this rewrite will be more true to the real story. To anyone who has already read this story once, it is different now, and things are not the same. I suggest you read again. Thank you!*_

_Prologue_

The wind whipped through her short honey hair as the airship cruised through the clouds. It had been a long time since she had been back to Home, as the Al Bhed called it. She wondered if they would even remember her there. More importantly, would they accept her? 

She turned her head when she heard the footsteps approaching across the balcony of the airship. Raising her green eyes, they fell on a young man – smiling.

"It's been a long time," he said, raising his arms to offer a hug.

She smiled and accepted him into a strong embrace.

"It has been a long time, Jerand" she said. "Six years."

"Much too long to go without your pretty smile," he said, stepping away from her embrace and leaning against the rail of the ship.

"How have you been?" she asked, leaning on the rail herself.

"Some ole'," he said, running a hand through black hair. "You?"

"Well… a lot has happened in the last six years…" she said, looking into the clouds.

He sensed something in her. There was something she didn't want to say.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"After I left home," she began hesitantly. "I was married."

"Oh yeah, I heard you married a Yevonite." Jerand laughed and shook his head. "I said 'No way would Kiri marry a Yevonite! She's too good for that. She's got pure Al Bhed blood in her! She wouldn't mix with a Yevonite!'"

Kiri didn't speak for several moments, looking down into the sky as the wind tossed her hair gently. Jerand raised his eyes to her a moment, taking in her silence. He then lowered his head also; he had said the wrong thing.

"So… it _is true?" he asked._

"Yes," she said. "That's why I didn't come back for so long. I didn't want my own people to think less of me."

There was a moment of silence on Jerand's end. He was trying to search for the right words. Kiri had been a dear friend once.

"I don't think less of you. But, you have to admit, it is kind of strange for someone as 'anti-Yevonite' as you to go and fall in love with one," he pointed out.

"I… changed," she said. "I had never really met a Yevonite before, but, when I met him, my whole perspective changed. He was… different from anyone I'd ever met."

"Geez… you must really be in love…" Jerand mused. "And with a Yevonite," he said, shaking his head. "It just comes off strange."

Kiri laughed lightly. 

"It gets worse," she said. "He's a priest."

"A priest of Yevon, huh? What did your father say?"

"He and Cid were… very unhappy. Father died not too long after I left, you know. And Cid hasn't spoken to me since. I… don't know what I'll say to him today."

"Huh? This isn't you!" Jerand said. "What happened to the Kiri who wasn't afraid of anything? I've really got to see this guy who changed you so much!"

Kiri raised her hand to the large Al Bhed locket that hung from her neck. This elaborately crafted item had been given to her by her mother, as a wedding gift, though she had been unable to attend the wedding. Her father and brother had stood in the way of that.

Taking the locket into her hands, she opened it up and held it out to Jerand, who took it from her carefully and looked at the pictures inside.

"That's him," she said, pointing to one side of the locket that held a picture of Kiri and a man in a robe, holding close to each other and smiling. 

Jerand looked down at the picture for a moment and then nodded.

"He's good-looking," he gave, to Kiri's smile. 

She nodded and looked over at the picture herself.

"What's his name?" asked Jerand.

"Braska," she said.

"And… this little girl is your daughter?" he asked, looking at the other picture in the locket which contained Braska holding a little girl.

"Yes," said Kiri. "That's Yuna. She just turned five."

"She's cute," he said.

"She takes after her father," Kiri assured him.

"I thought she took after you."

The woman smiled, quite proud of her family.

"Well, this guy must make you really happy. Anyone who could keep you away from Home for six years must be really great. I approve."

"Thanks, Jerand," she said, opening her hand to take back the locket.

A sudden jolt to the ship sent Kiri forward against the rail harshly. The locket fell from Jerand's grasp and Kiri watched it, reaching out to grab it as it fell through the clouds, the gold chain barely slipping through her fingers.

"I'm so sorry, Kiri!" Jerand said, regaining his balance and helping her off the rail. "Are you alright?"

"I'm… fine," she assured him, trying to regain her breath.

"What's wrong in there? Doesn't he know how to drive?" Jerand yelled back to an Al Bhed man running out onto the deck.

"Sin!" he yelled. "Get inside!"

Kiri's heart filled with fear. Sin? No. Not now. Not today! She wasn't even with her family! What about her wonderful husband and her sweet little girl? She would not even be able to tell them goodbye.

A single tear rolled down her cheek as she turned her head to look out at the horizon. She saw the blasts cutting through the clouds and making tunnels of energy. All she could think about was her family – and how she would miss them. 

Taking one last breath, she closed her eyes and accepted her fate. She would be one more: killed by Sin's everlasting quest for death. She said a short prayer to her husband's god before the ship was struck again and her body became limp against the rail.   


	2. Chapter 1

_This… is their story…_

**Their Story**

_A tribute to the brave souls who defeated Sin those ten years ago, leaving behind their wants for the good of Spira…_

He lowered his head and released a poignant sigh as he stared at the flowers draped before him on the casket. _Beautiful. Sadly, they did not capture the beauty that had radiated from her face when she had smiled. He closed his eyes and remembered her soft laughter that had always made him content. He had treasured every moment of her presence, but the sounds of the waves lapping gently over the wooden coffin brought him back to a harsh reality: the only remembrance of her he had left was the small girl beside him, clutching his hand tightly and looking up to his face, wondering if her daddy was okay. _

He looked down at her as her six-year-old-face forced a smile in strength, while he had to fight the tears back from his own eyes. The small girl's eyes were filled with a glow that was trying to offer comfort to her father, but all the while she was trying to understand what exactly had happened to her mother. 

Braska smiled as he looked down into her eyes: one green, one blue: one from her father and one from her mother. He had always thought of his daughter's eyes that way, feeling an even closer bond with his wife. Their child made them a part of each other forever. Right now, he felt the need to turn away from the girl. He was a strong person, but he felt he had to be even stronger for his daughter now. The fact that she was seeing tears in his eyes made him feel as though he was not fulfilling his duty to her. She looked up toward him – waiting.

"Come on, Yuna," he said gently, giving her hand a tender tug and leading her to the water's edge. 

The child walked up to the shore and let the water lap over her feet. She looked down at the coffin in silence, but her eyes didn't fill with tears as she raised the flower and let it drift through the air and onto the top of the casket. The blossom was jasmine: her mother's favorite. 

Braska's heart choked when he heard the whispered words of his daughter drift up to him in the breeze.

"Mom's happy now… right?"

"What?" he asked, looking down into her awaiting eyes.

"Mom's happy – that's what you told me, right?"

His eyes closed. It was hard not to see his wife's face when he did. How mature his little girl was becoming! He was struck at how far her understanding ranged at such an early age. She was already beginning to accept death. As long as she knew her mother was happy, she could acknowledge never seeing her again. Braska, however, did not possess her innocent outlook. He could see death from all sides. Perhaps it was better that she learn early; death would soon become part of her everyday life. 

Yuna looked up to her father with a revered expression. She nodded slightly as the wind played with the hair framing her face.

"I'm done now," she whispered.

Braska released his grip on her small hand for fear that he might have been clenching it too tightly, though she never said a word. He put his hand behind her small back and led her away from the water. 

The Summoner Alexiel then stepped up and took her place, her body draped in a long gown and her head anointed with an elegant circlet of gold. Raising her rod, she weaved circles through the air, cutting through the wind in smooth motion. All eyes were cast at the summoner, her graceful dance persuading tears from the eyes of the people. It was not her beautiful movements that jerked at their heartstrings, but this dance – this sending – was the final transition to the afterlife for the dead. 

The souls could be seen clearly now, leaving the bodies of the departed and floating up into the clouds as the Hymn of the Fayth was heard by all. Braska closed his eyes in sorrow and bowed his head in silent humility, not only for his wife, but for the other deceased. It had been quite a tragic even… 

His wife, along with several others, had been on an airship heading for the Al Bhed Home, to see their families. The ship had not gone down because of natural causes, but because of an attack from the force that ruled all of Spira's life and death: Sin. 

Sin was an inexorable force. So many had tried and failed to rid their world of this evil. Sin was punishment; everyone knew that. Because humanity was impure, Sin was sent by Yevon, the entity watching over Spira, and until "complete atonement is reached", Sin would live on and destroy everything in its wake. 

Braska looked down at his small daughter, her eyes lit with pleasure. He couldn't understand her expression – until she looked up to him and smiled.

"She dances pretty," she said innocently.

Braska smiled as much as he could and looked back towards Alexiel as she finished her dance. The Summoner: the one who brings hope and joy to Spira. They are the ones who will save Spira. Summoners were the only forces that could defeat Sin. They must go on a long and hard journey, only to end up giving their lives, to bring The Calm to Spira. Praise Yevon for a section of time in the midst of Sin's destruction free from the death that it brings! If it were not for that, what would there be to live for? The people would be without hope and have their lives filled with strife for as long as they lived. Summoners would give their lives to destroy Sin and give the people a small glimmer of hope and joy. To a Summoner, all that is worth everything – even his own life.

Braska felt a light touch on his hand and he looked down to his daughter beside him.

"Daddy, we can go home now. Mom is happy,"

At that moment, looking down at her sweetly smiling face, her small hand in his, Braska knew what would come. He knew that one day they too would be torn apart by Sin, as he had seen happen to so many families already – as had already happened to them with the loss of his wife. It was in that moment, that Braska realized that he wanted to be the one. He wanted to be the one to restore Spira's hope. He couldn't save his wife, but he could perhaps preserve his little girl's future. That's why he had been training… to become a summoner. 

He nodded in silence and smiled, leading Yuna through the sea of crying people. He looked quite strange: a priest of Yevon amongst dozens of Al Bhed, but he had never cared about that. The Al Bheds were considered heathens and no self-respecting Yevonite would be seen with one. Braska always thought there was good in everyone. His wife, after all, had been an Al Bhed. 

The prejudice went both ways though. Al Bheds were not always fond of Yevonites either. Braska had faced much controversy over his marriage. He smiled in remembrance: he and his child's mother had stole away into the night and eloped, for their love was stronger than any teachings. Neither one of them had changed their beliefs, and they lived happily together, bound by their love for each other and their daughter. They had only been married for six short years. Braska was only twenty-seven and already he had lost her.

He took a deep breath of the fresh sea-side air. The sending was not allowed within the city limits of Bevelle, where Braska and Yuna lived. The Al Bhed would not have it; they were not welcomed there with open arms. Bevelle was the Holy City, where the High Maesters of Yevon presided. The Al Bhed did not accept Yevon's teachings. Therefore, they were shut out by all Yevonites. Braska didn't mind this location. As long as he knew his wife was headed safely to the Farplane, he was content. They were lucky that they found a summoner who would venture to help the Al Bhed people. Braska had always thought summoners were to help all people, but some had positioned themselves above the clouds with their new-found egos.

Making his way through the mass, he was stopped short by a gruff voice behind him.

"Hey… You."

Braska stopped short and turned around, his little girl doing the same. Behind him, was a tall Al Bhed man, strong and bulky, but Braska was not intimidated. He knew the man all too well.

"Hello, Cid. I wasn't sure if you were going to show up," Braska said. 

Yuna was edging around her father, trying to get a closer look. She had never been shy.

"What kind of a man do you think I am? I couldn't miss my sister's sending. No way …" his voice trailed off. 

For as long as Braska had known Cid, he had never been at a loss for words. It would be better to say that he never ran out of bad things to say about Braska. He had always hated the fact that his sister had married a Yevonite. Braska was very surprised that the man had even ventured to speak to him today. He had stopped talking to the both of them after their wedding.

As Braska looked on, the man stared at the ground. His face was twisted in an expression of sorrow, and Braska didn't know what to say. Cid finally regained himself, not letting his tears fall, and he looked back up to the man before him. 

"I… feel I owe it to my sister to at least make things right with you," Cid said, surprising Braska to a point of extremity.

"Very well," said the Yevonite without hesitation. "I accept."

Braska offered his hand and Cid took it with a firm grasp.

"I hear you're training to become a summoner," Cid said finally.

"Ever since her death… my mind was made up."

"What about little Yuna?" Cid asked, peering down at the girl at Braska's side. "By Yevon, she looks like her mother…"

"There is a place for her to stay. But I haven't decided anything definite yet."

"Well, you be sure and tell her, before you go, where I am. And if she ever needs anything… I'm there."

Braska nodded, taking care not to make his usual Yevonite bow. Cid would have been insulted.

"Thank you, Cid. I deeply appreciate it. I'm sorry that an event as this is what brought us to speak to each other."

"I just realized that I never thought that my sister wouldn't be around forever. Then, in all my stubbornness, I kept myself from speaking to her. Now it's too late…"

Both of the men stood in silence, remembering their loss, as Yuna busied herself examining the small girl with blond braids peeking out from behind Cid. The silence was finally broken by the Al Bhed.

"Well, we all need to be getting out of here. The ship will leave soon. Take care, Braska. Don't forget to explain to Yuna what I told you."

"I will be sure to."

The men shared another handshake and then Cid departed, taking his small daughter's hand as Braska and Yuna watched them go.

"Who was that, daddy?" Yuna asked.

Braska looked down at her lovingly.

"Just… an old friend," he said, and for then, he would leave it at that.


	3. Chapter 2

_Religion has come to this…?_

Braska lowered his head to the statue before him. This monument was of Lord O'Holand, one of the great summoners of the past. He was proclaimed High Summoner when he defeated Sin twenty years ago. The summoner who had last defeated Sin was Lady Yocum – that was ten years ago. Braska was praying to all of the past summoners for guidance and strength before he entered the Chamber of the Fayth. His time was coming soon. He only hoped that he would be lucky enough to be accepted as a summoner, and perhaps one day he would be prayed to by future summoners seeking comfort. It was the least he could do for them all.

"How goes the training?" came a recognizable voice nearby. 

Braska raised his head up to cast his eyes on a familiar face. He smiled. Before him stood a man in a red coat. This man was dark in complexion, with a firm look and piercing eyes. Braska had seen him here many times. He was a warrior monk by the name of Auron. He and Braska had spoken a few times, linked by a mutual friend – Wen Kinoc – but he wouldn't really say they were friends, only acquaintances.

"Hello, Auron," Braska said. "Things are going quite well."

"I heard you were to enter into the trials tomorrow. I wanted to wish you luck."

"Thank you," he said with a laugh. "I feel I'm going to need it."

Auron shook his head.

"I've seen you here in the temple just about everyday. I must say that I'm quite impressed. I've never seen someone so dedicated to their training, though you are a priest. I think you'll make a fine summoner."

"I can only hope that I will be accepted," said Braska.

"I wouldn't say there was much to worry about. You seem to have a firm standing and strong will."

"I – " Braska began, but found his reply interrupted by a monk who had stepped out of a side chamber.

"Auron," he said, but then noticed Braska. "Oh, forgive me, my Lord," he said with a bow.

"It's quite alright," Braska assured him. 

The monk bowed again for the inconvenience. 

"Auron, your presence is requested by Priest Mikilen."

"Thank you," the warrior monk nodded in response, turning back to the priest. "Forgive my leave, my Lord."

"It's alright. And thank you for the blessing."

Auron gave a humble bow and headed off to follow the young monk.   

Braska went back to his position on the floor and again began to pray for strength. It was comforting to know that others had faith in him, but still he wished for the aid of the ones who went before him. They would know if he was truly ready to bear this burden.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Auron followed the young monk down the long hallway to the priest's chamber. This calling had not been unexpected. He had been preparing for this for several days now. This was, no doubt, about a promotion. He was to be second in command, since the former had been killed by a fiend the past week. Auron had the skill and experience to fill the man's shoes. He had simply been waiting.

The monk opened the door to the chamber and led Auron into a room that didn't look quite like what he was expecting to find. All he thought he would see was the priest and Platin, the commander of the warrior monks. What Auron found was the priest, three well-known monks, and a young woman with long brown ringlets who smiled at him. Something wasn't right…

"Ah, Auron," the high priest proclaimed. "It is good you finally got here."

Auron offered a bow through his confusion. 

"You wanted to see me, my Lord?" he asked.

"Yes," said the priest, approaching slowly. "As you know, you're up for a large promotion. You're coming on second in command."

"Yes," said Auron, wondering in which direction this was going.

"Since you are going to be highly ranked, you're going to want to present an image of esteem. Platin has captured this image. He lives highly and has a beautiful family. His skill makes him highly respected. You have the skill, but you are lacking family. You don't even have so much as a brother or sister."

"I didn't think that would have anything to do with this," Auron said, narrowing his brows. 

"This is my daughter, Raquala. I have consented to offer her hand to you in marriage."

The priest put his hands on the girl's shoulders and she looked up to Auron, her eyes filled with just as much confusion as his were. She tried to smile again.

"I was under the impression that monks shouldn't marry. I've held with that. I can't say it for others, but I don't feel like it is right for me. I honor Yevon with everything I have inside. That's much more important than what I can give to society through marriage."

The priest smiled slightly and motioned the monks out of the room. 

"Think it over," he said. "Spend some time with her."

Auron watched as the man left the room and closed the door, leaving the two of them alone. What was all this? Pushing him into marriage? Since when did that become part of the teachings?

"Hi," came the sweet voice behind him.

He forced himself to look at her, giving her the same respect he would give any normal person; she was nothing special.

"So, you are Auron," she confirmed.

"Did you have part in this?" he asked her quite abruptly.

She smiled.

"They said you were bold," she mused. "No. It was my father's doing. He wants me to be taken care of and provided for." She paused to laugh. "I don't really appreciate the fact that he feels like he has to bribe someone to marry me."

Auron turned his face away from her lovely smile. This was wrong in his mind. It was not for him to marry. He had decided that long ago. The very thought of the ministry telling him he had to marry was angering. They had no right. It wasn't in the teachings. What concern was it of theirs?

At a small laugh he looked back up to her, standing there meekly with hands behind her back. She slowly brought her brown eyes up to his.

"I can tell you don't want this," she said. "I can see it in your eyes. Honestly, I don't care for it either. This isn't what I want from life… but that's a different story."

Auron just stared back at her.

"It's okay," she assured him. "Just say it."

"I don't want this," he said without trouble.

She smiled more.

"Go then. You have no hard feelings from me."

"What about your father?" Auron asked, not concerned about the old man's thoughts, but suddenly about this understanding girl's well-being.

"I'll think of something to tell him."

Auron nodded his appreciation. 

"I do apologize," he said.

"There is no need for that," she assured him.

Auron did as she bade and left the room in a single movement. He was glad to be out, and even more content that he had held his peace. He still did not understand it. Why had they even asked him to do this? He was faithful enough, was he not? Why did he need this?

"Where are you going?" came a voice from nearby.

Auron stopped in his tracks to see the priest step into the hall. The man in red's mind filled with anger, but he would control himself. Perhaps this could all be straightened out soon.

"You didn't stay long," the priest said.

"My Lord," Auron began. "I don't wish to marry. I don't know your daughter, and, no offense to you, cannot love her enough to marry her. I don't feel that I am supposed to love in that way."

"Just because you've dedicated you whole life to something? You can't have a wife?"

Auron sighed.

"I believe that having a wife will take away from me what is truly important."

"The teachings?" asked the priest.

"Yes," he said.

There was silence in the hall for several moments as the priest lifted his eyes to the ceiling in thought. 

"I suppose I can see where you are coming from, young Auron."

"Then you will consent to my wishes?" asked the hopefully monk.

"Let me make this simpler for you," said the high priest. "Marry my daughter… or leave the monastery."

"What?" Auron asked, unsure he had heard correctly. 

"This is a disgrace to my daughter and myself. If you refuse this offer, if reflects on us. I'm afraid I cannot risk that. I'll have to ask you to leave this place. You will be excommunicated from the temple."

Auron could hardly believe his ears at this. What? How could he say this? What right did he have? Auron closed his eyes briefly to hold in his rage. Sucking in a deep breath, he finally opened his eyes again, his anger fading and his nerves calming.

"Alright," he said finally. "I'll pack my things."


	4. Chapter 3

_By the goodness of Yevon, a summoner is born…_

Sweat rolled down the brow of Braska as he prayed with all his might in the temple. He expressed his thoughts in his motions, while concentrating with all his valor in order to convince the Fayth to make him a summoner. The Hymn of the Fayth bounced off the high walls and ceiling that was adorned with vividly colored murals and carvings of marble and other fine stone. He was sure he could journey. His only problem would be leaving his child. She would understand. She was strong. She would support his decision, and then she would smile and tell him goodbye, missing him more with every step he took away from her. 

Braska's mind was made up. He had come to this resolve, and nothing was going to change his mind now. He pressed himself to pray harder, feeling the meditation through every ounce of himself. His stomach rumbled, for he had been fasting as well for several long days. He begged and pleaded in his mind. He asked for the power to uplift Spira and to help all who were in need; that was truly what he wanted.

Many things would have to be done if he was to become a summoner. He would have to enlist the aid of some guardians, to protect him. He would feel strange about asking another person to guard him, but there were guardians out there who were desperately seeking summoners. There were so many free-agent guardians, willing to go on with any summoner who asked, simply for the good of Spira. This was truly inspiring to Braska. All he would ask is that his guardian be dedicated to helping others for the sake of Spira. That alone would be enough. 

Finally, after many hours of intense praying and sincerity, the Fayth appeared before Braska, looming over the altar in a ghostly manner. 

"Name yourself," the Fayth commanded in a thundering voice that overlapped even the hymn.

"I am Braska. I am a priest of Yevon, and hail from Bevelle. I seek to acquire your power as an aeon."

The Fayth stared down at him, taking in all that was in his soul.

"You mean to become a summoner, then?"

"Yes. My heart will settle for nothing less," Braska said, bowing humbly.

"There is strength in your prayer," the Fayth commented. "Tell me, what do you believe you can do for Spira?"

"I wish to take Spira's sorrow away. I am tired of all the suffering – all the death. I ask of you, lend me your power that I might destroy Sin and give Spira its happiness back!"

"Strong words from the mouth of a mere mortal, but can your actions speak just as boldly?"

Braska lowered his head in humility, his hands bracing him against the floor, his palms moist on the cold tile.

"I will not disappoint the Fayth, or the people of Spira. I will stand for what I know is right… I will not let them down," said Braska, full of emotional vigor.

The Fayth examined him carefully, as if testing his sincerity. Finally, the Fayth smiled.

"Rise then, Summoner Braska. I lend you my power. Summon me in a time of need," the Fayth said, as he vanished before the bowing man.

Braska did not look up from his humble position on the ground, but a smile crossed his face as droplets of sweat hit the polished floor below. Finally, the man rose and steadied himself to walk from the temple. Outside, he would be greeted with the faces of the ones who loved and supported him. He couldn't keep from smiling. Finally, he would bring joy back to the lives of the people. He was determined not to let them down.

Exiting the temple, he could see the faces below him. Neighbors and dear friends had gathered to wait, and all beamed when their hero entered into the daylight. 

"Daddy!" little Yuna said, rushing to her father with open arms and a smile.

Braska scooped her up into his arms and gave her a tight hug.

"Did you do it?" asked Exikel, who had been watching over Yuna while Braska had been in the temple. "Have you become a summoner?"

Braska nodded modestly. 

"Yes, my friend. It has been done."

"That means you'll be leaving soon," said Meeshca, Exikel's wife. 

The older couple had been quite fond of Braska and was not looking forward to his departure. They held the highest esteem for him for becoming a summoner, but still, they didn't want to see him give his life. These two were the ones asked to watch over Yuna while Braska was away. 

"I will be needing some guardians first, I believe. It won't do for a summoner to depart without guardians," he said with a laugh.

The couple looked at each other while some of the other onlookers laughed at his wittiness.

"Well?" asked Meeshca, breaking through his thoughts.

"Yes?" he asked her, confused.

"Aren't you going to show us?" asked Lordof, a younger man and neighbor.

"I'm sorry. I don't understand," Braska told them with a shake of his head.

Mila, Lordof's wife, pointed to the staff in Braska's hand. 

"You're aeon," she said lightly.

"Oh! Yes, of course," he said, clearing his mind. "But, I'll have to ask you to stand back."

The small gathering of people parted and Braska raised his staff. Saying a short prayer and asking the aeon to come before them, he manipulated the staff through the air in a steady motion, as the people watched him in silent awe at what they would see emerge before them. 

Colors appeared in shapes above Braska's head and he used the staff to guide the force through. Out of the self-made glyph, emerged a mighty call, as bursting through it came forth a reptile of enormous size with broad colorful wings. 

The people gathered gasped in delight as the giant specimen landed on the ground for all to see. Braska looked on, quite pleased that his first summon had gone so well. Though he had trained long and hard, he was not so sure that he would do it right the first time. 

The impressive armored reptile of a dark color looked to Braska with a gleam in its eye, as mind contact was made between them. The aeon spoke in words only Braska could hear and understand; they were part of each other now. It was Braska's strength of mind that had brought it here.

"I am called Bahamut. Use my strength well, my Lord."

Braska nodded in recognition.

"And I am called Braska. It is an honor," he said aloud.

Braska then bowed lowly and respectably to the aeon, as to establish a reverential relationship between them. 

"Very impressive Braska!" shouted an Exikel.

"Three cheers for Braska! The one who is to bring us The Calm!" cried Lordof, as his friends and the others gathered began to cheer loudly.

Braska tried not to let this get to him. He was in this for one purpose, and it was not for the glory. He hoped that he would continue to remember that along his journey. 

Casting his eyes to the side, they fell on a dark figure, shrouded in the shadows of the trees. The summoner looked closer through the glare of the sun. Finally he smiled, though in confusion. What exactly was he doing here? 

Braska felt the need to greet him, as he felt to all people who were foreign to the area, whether they were dear friends or not. He made his way over, leaving the circle of people to admire the aeon from their chosen distances. As he approached, he couldn't help but wonder what he was doing here. Shouldn't he be at the temple?

"Auron," Braska said happily, trying not to sound awkward at the man's strange appearance. "Good to see you."

"This is quite impressive," said the monk, looking at the large creature in the square. "So, you were accepted."

"Yes," Braska said with a humble bow in praise to Yevon. "I am grateful."

"I would think Spira would be the most pleased. To have someone as dedicated as you fighting for them."

Braska smiled at the compliment and moved to stand next to Auron under the tree, turning his back on the sun. 

"I appreciate that," he said.

Both of them stood then, staring out over the people, all quite curious about the aeon, but not sure enough to come much closer. Braska smirked at their uncertainty. They would trust these beings to protect them, yet they were afraid to approach?

"If you don't mind my asking," said Braska, unable to hold it in any longer. "What are you doing here today? Surely you didn't just come to see if I had become a summoner."

"Why not?" Auron asked, not looking at the man.

"Because you could have done that at the temple," Braska pointed out.

"You're right. I could have," Auron mused, then he closed his eyes in thought. "Forgive my curtness, my Lord. I am not myself today."

"Quite alright. You've obviously had an unpleasant experience," said the summoner, not venturing to ask further.

Auron sighed again finally.

"I left the temple," he said.

Braska tried hard not to ask questions that didn't want to be answered, though his mind was clouded with them.

"I see," he said.

"It's alright," said Auron. "It was my choice."

Braska thought a moment.

"If you don't mind, what do you plan to do now?" he asked.

Auron shook his head. 

"I am not sure, my Lord."

"A person like you couldn't go without something to do for very long," said Braska. "Idleness doesn't seem like your cup of tea."

"No, my Lord. It isn't," Auron said with a laugh.

Braska chuckled as well and looked into the square as Exikel lifted up Yuna and let her touch the aeon's slick head.

"I wonder, Auron," Braska said finally. "Have you ever considered becoming a guardian?"

"A guardian?" 

"That's right. You have skill. You're loyal… you'd make a fine guardian," said Braska.

"Are you asking me to become your guardian, my Lord?"

Braska thought a moment.

"It is up to you, of course. You don't have to decide now. Think it over. I won't be leaving for a few more days. I still have some things to take care of," he said.

Auron watched as the summoner's eyes traveled to his daughter.

"You are honest and trustworthy," said Braska. "Quite honestly I would be honored to have you as a guardian… if, of course, you would accept."

Auron thought deeply for a moment. A guardian? He had never really given much thought to it before. There was no doubt in his mind that he could do the job. It wouldn't be too much different than what he was already used to. Go on a journey, protect a man with all your strength… not too difficult, he thought. He would surely think it over.

"I will think it over," Auron assured him. "There are some things I want to take care of myself."

Braska nodded. 

"That's quite alright. It will be a bit longer before I am ready to leave. Think it over carefully."

Auron bowed and Braska copied the humble gesture.

Auron took one last look up at the aeon and headed back through the street, quite unsure of where he was headed. He would wind up staying in an inn for the night he was sure, for he was no longer housed in the monastery. He had left to do some thinking, away from the temple to hold his anger. Tomorrow he would return to gather his things. 

He would be thinking long and hard about Lord Braska's offer. A guardian? Perhaps. But was Braska indeed the summoner he wanted to guard?

Stepping under the stoop of an inn as the sky fell dark, Auron reached into his pocket to search for gil. Withdrawing out his hand, he looked at the small amount of money there. Just enough for one night. 


	5. Chapter 4

_Betrayed by his own beliefs:  a cruel fate to befall such a Yevonite…_

He stepped into the hallway, the steel of his shoes making the walls deflect the sound of his entrance. The tail of his red coat rubbed against his pants legs as he came through the hall and approached the man in the helmet. The helmeted man's beard was long and thick. Neither man smiled as they peered at each other, the cold reflecting off the stone of the walls.

Stopping short before the bearded man, Auron could hear the Hymn floating from the temple – the place he was walking away from. The man before him took off his gloves and set them on a shelf next to his gun. 

"So… you're really leaving, aren't you?" the man asked.

"Do I really have a choice now?" Auron asked, keeping his usual calm tone while waving his gloved hand expressively.

"I suppose you're right," said Kinoc, putting his hand to his head. "You aren't in very good standing right now."

"That is why I must go. I am beyond their forgiveness."

"You wouldn't ask them to forgive you," Kinoc pointed out.

"That's right – because they are wrong."

Kinoc shook his head.

"I don't really see why you did it in the first place. You were offered the hand of the priest's daughter. That's a high honor."

Auron took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He had already met with much controversy over this subject. He wished not to discuss it again.

"I was under the impression that being a monk was a completely religious concept. By marrying her, I would have become a symbol: a public display and a direct representation of Yevon. I could not present such an example…"

"It's alright, friend. You don't have to explain," insisted Kinoc, raising his hands in defense.  "I'm just going to have to accept the fact that I'm not going to be seeing you very often anymore."

"It will be… different," Auron admitted, but not with regret.

"Where will you go?"

"I am… not sure. I am considering becoming a guardian. Lord Braska has asked me."

"He's a fine and upstanding man," Kinoc stated. 

Then he stood in peace. Auron didn't like his silence.

"What?"

"Become a guardian?" Kinoc asked. "Travel with a summoner? Risk your life to protect him…? I can't say that I'd want to, but I guess the job description isn't much different from being a warrior monk anyway."

Auron nodded. 

"I see no reason why I shouldn't. I would be honored to bring such a hope to Spira."

Kinoc smirked at this. Auron was always so principled and reputable.

"By the way," Auron began. "Congratulations on your promotion. Being second-in-command is going to be a big responsibility."

Kinoc lowered his head and sighed, almost looking ashamed. So… his friend had heard. 

"You know that promotion was meant for you," he said, almost sounding guilty, as though he had cheated Auron out of the position.

"It's alright. Second-in-command is also a public position."

"But so is being a guardian to a High Summoner," Kinoc reminded him.

"I feel as though I will understand that it is not a position of fame, but one of honor. I believe I will know that… more so than I know of my current position."

Kinoc laughed. 

"So, you _are thinking that religion has become commercialized?"_

"Perhaps a bit. Things aren't like they used to be…"

There was silence between the two friends. Then Auron sighed again.

"You seem almost unsure of yourself," Kinoc observed. "Are you certain you want to do this?"

Auron nodded his head slightly and looked through the loose strands of black hair in his eyes; it was time to say goodbye. He offered his hand. 

"Goodbye, my friend. We will meet again one day," he said.

"That is good to hear," said Kinoc. "I… have something I'd like to ask you."

"Yes?"

"If you do become a guardian… and you see Zanarkand, promise me you'll tell me… what it looks like."

Auron nodded sincerely as he broke away from the handshake. 

"I should go. You have many duties to attend to," said the man in red.

"Be careful, Auron," offered Kinoc, picking up his gun from the shelf and watching his friend go.

Auron turned his back and walked away, his footsteps echoing off the corridor, the hymn drifting further and further away from his ears. It felt strange to be leaving this place, but the more Auron thought about it, the more he realized how glad he was that it was over. It had ended so suddenly though. His whole career had disappeared in a gust of smoke, all because he refused the hand of the high priest's daughter. Was he not supposed to let personal feelings cloud his decisions? What about what he wanted? 

All he had ever really sought after was to be a dedicated monk. He had been content with the thought of dedicating his whole life to the service of Yevon, but that had just not been enough when it came down to it. His position and his favor in Yevon's eyes had all been reduced to the decision for marriage – yes or no. 

Auron opened the door and let himself wander outside into the sunlight that fell on Bevelle. It was strange: the world seemed different now. He had no where to go. There was nothing that had to be done. It would only be a short while before he knew he would be busy again, but right now his world seemed almost…  empty.


	6. Chapter 5

The man walked into the pub – already drunk in broad daylight. Not too many bars could be found in this city, and this man could certainly say he had never seen this one before. Not too much of this mattered, though, for it was hard to care about anything in his state. He hardly remembered anything. The only thing he seemed to hold to well was the fact that he knew he wasn't home. He was… somewhere else…

Stumbling through the doorway and catching sight of a few stares from the people inside, the man finally made his way to sit at the bar, putting his hands on the table to steady himself. He tried to think back to the last thing he remembered.

He had gotten drunk. After that, he had gone out to sea to train for his game… and that was all he remembered. Nothing else made sense to him. This place – it was different. Everyone was dressed differently. They clashed with his bright color. They were staring at him, as though he was the one that looked strange. He just smiled laughingly.

"Can I… help you, sir?" asked the bartender, seemingly trying to figure the man out. 

Where was he from? Was he lost? The man shook his head.

"I just need a minute to sit down," he said in a gruff tone, rubbing his dry eyes.

The bartender nodded and went back to polish the glass, occasionally looking back up at the man. Who was he? Why was he dressed so strangely?

The drunken man lifted his eyes to see a couple of men snickering at him from behind a newspaper. Did they think he couldn't see them? What the hell was their problem anyway?

"Problem?" he asked them in a threatening voice.

One man shook his head while the other smirked.

"No. No problem," he said.

"Good," the drunk man said. "That means you two won't mind helping me."

"With what?" one man asked.

"For starters, you can tell me where the hell this place is."

"You're in Bevelle," one man said.

"Bevelle?" the man questioned. "Never heard of it."

"You know," said the other man. "The Holy City?"

The foreign man shook his head. 

"Nope."

"Where are you from," asked the bartender curiously.

"Zanarkand."

There was silence on all ends as the man spoke these words. They all just stared back at him with wide eyes.

"What?" the drunk man demanded, feeling hostile at their stares.

"Did you just say Zanarkand?" asked one man.

"Yeah. How do I get back there from here?"

Laughter erupted from everyone who heard these words. The man didn't like this. He didn't see anything funny.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"No one lives in Zanarkand," said one bold man. "It's ruins."

The drunk man just stared back at him a moment. 

"You're lying," he said finally.

"It's true," said the bartender. "Zanarkand was destroyed a thousand years ago."

The foreigner turned back to the bar. Was this some kind of sick joke? There was no way that these men could tell him that Zanarkand didn't exist. He had lived there his whole life.

"Yeah, so, there's no 'Zanarkand' anymore," said one of the men as they burst out in laughter.

This laughter was not taken too kindly by the foreigner, especially in his drunken state. Without a word, he rose from his chair and before either man could defend themselves, they were on the floor.  


	7. Chapter 6

Braska watched the small child running through the street, playing with friends. He wondered about leaving her, but he knew she would be safe. She would grow up well – she already was. His little daughter was not the only thing that made him think twice about leaving this place. He had friends that were like family to him, though his blood kin had been killed by Sin several years ago. There were so many ghosts, asking him to stay in this place – holding him here – but now he was a summoner. It was his will to go; it was his duty to go.

"Daddy! Watch!" Yuna called, chasing one of the other children around.

He smiled as he watched her. Yes. He would miss her greatly.

"When will you depart, Lord Braska?" came a voice from behind.

Turning, Braska caught sight of Auron, leaning against a tree, carrying his red coat over his arm.

"Auron," he said rising. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Well, if I am going to be your guardian, we might as well begin to prepare for the journey," he said.

"So you accept?" asked Braska, quite pleased.

"How could I refuse?" was the man's reply.

"Somehow I thought you'd be returning to the temple," said Braska.

Auron shook his head, not prepared to look the summoner in the eye.

"Lord Braska, I was excommunicated," Auron said, quite frankly.

The man looked back at him with astonishment in his eyes, but held from asking.

"I was offered the hand of the priest's daughter, but refused it. It was a disgrace, they said. I am no longer welcome in the monastery. I thought you should know this before you accept me as your guardian. It's becoming quite well known through the city."

"A scandal?" asked Braska.

"Yes. You should know before you truly accept me as your guardian."    

Braska held up his hands. 

"It is fine. You do not have to explain yourself to me. I do not care what you have done."

Auron looked at him quizzically. How could that not matter? This man – he cared not?

"But – will it be fitting for your image?" Auron asked.

Braska laughed. 

"I did not offer to reject you now," he said.

Braska laughed again.

"What is funny?" Auron asked.

Braska shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I believe the real question is: if you would be willing to accept me," he said. 

"Why would there be a problem in that?" Auron asked.

"I was a priest of Yevon – married to an Al Bhed woman. I'm not much different from you in society's eyes."

"I have heard of that, Lord Summoner."

"And that does not bother you?" Braska asked.

Did it really? Could this bother him? Auron had never had too much of an opinion either way about the Al Bhed. They were definitely widely regarded as heathen. Auron thought back to the dedication he saw in this man. One flaw was not enough to turn him away. He finally gathered the nerve to speak after thinking for a moment. He shook his head.

"That matters not. Our intentions now both come from Yevon's goodness and for our love of Spira," said Auron.

"Well said," Braska commented. "So, you would still accept me as your summoner then?"

"If you would have me as your guardian," Auron said bowing. "It would be an honor."

"Then let us beat this common talk together – when we defeat Sin." 

Auron nodded. Through this, he knew he was with the right summoner.  

"I wish to leave in two days," said Braska. 

"Of course, my Lord," Auron consented.

"I would like to go get tickets for the boat today… so that I am not tempted to change my mind."

"Of course."

"Would you come?"

"Yes," said Auron.

Braska looked out to his daughter, running about the street. He smiled as he watched her, playing innocently. He would soon no longer be able to look on at this.

"She is your daughter?" Auron asked, following the summoner's gaze.

"Yes," Braska said with a nod. "She's the only family I have left."

"And you are hers," Auron said.

Braska turned to face him, already knowing what the man was thinking.

"She will be taken care of," he assured the guardian. "She will not be alone. She accepts my departure."

"And – she knows you will not come back?" Auron asked.

"I haven't told her – not in so many words. I don't want her to think of it that way. I want her to realize what I am doing. If I tell her that I will die, she will not understand why I am going; she will only concentrate on the death."

Auron nodded in understanding.

"Yuna," Braska called.

"Yes?" the girl asked, stopping her running motion and looking to her father obediently. 

"It's time for you to go inside now. I'm going to make a trip to the docks."

"But you'll be back for dinner!" she said, her eyes begging for confirmation.

"Yes. I will be back," he promised.

The little girl smiled and cast a glance up to Auron as she scurried into the house. Braska sighed as Auron looked on without words. This was the fist time that Auron had seen this summoner in distraught. It was almost as though he was unsure of himself. Auron didn't like the reflective feeling, but he said nothing. This man now looked – sad and old.

Only a moment later though, Braska regained himself and his emotional wrinkles faded.

"Let's go." 

 Auron and Braska walked through the street in silence for a few moments. The warrior was unsure of where to begin conversation with this summoner. Sure, he had met his acquaintance before, but Auron was meaning to be careful now. He was not going to let himself become attached to this man. He knew what would come: they would travel a long way and then Braska would die to defeat Sin. It always happened; there was no way around it. Auron had heard stories of the bonds between summoners and their guardians, but he was determined not to let that happen to him. There would be no friendly chit-chat. He should stick to business. Before Auron had decided what he should ask first, Braska spoke.

"Besaid," he said.

"I'm sorry," said Auron, not understanding.

"We will be going to the temple at Besaid first. You – did want to know where we were going, right?"

Auron nodded, stirring the dust when he walked. He trudged on along the road, not showing any discomfort to the heavy sword that hung about his waist; it did not seem to slow him down in the least bit. He wondered what awaited them on the journey beginning soon. He would wonder that for quite a while along this street, before Braska spoke to him again, breaking a long silence.

"Any family?" he asked Auron.

The man in red shook his head, watching the people on the street.

"No. They – were killed by Sin several years ago: my parents and two sisters," said Auron, somewhat eager to change to subject.

"Sin brings turmoil to us all," commented the summoner.

This statement made Auron change his mind about the chosen topic. Could this man truly understand? Did he have answers? Perhaps it would hurt to ask. He was a priest, after all.

"For years I pondered the meaning of it all and the teachings offered no real answers. I couldn't understand why it was only said that Sin was our punishment. How can we ever make it go away? Will we atone? What about all the innocent ones?"

"Perhaps, with the final summoning, one day it will end for good," said Braska as they walked.

"Do you think that there could ever be one strong enough to rid us of Sin completely?" Auron asked, his voice full of hope for what the summoner would say. 

"I – do not know. But we must keep trying. Perhaps one day, our efforts will pay off and we will be rid of Sin."

"Lord Braska," Auron began, asking something he had been pondering to himself for quite some time.  "The final summoning… is it… wrong?"

Braska paused before he gave an answer as the path split before them: one way to the docks and one headed for Miihen Highroad. The men stopped, looking up at the signs, splitting the path. Braska turned to his guardian.

"I don't quite understand what you mean," he said finally.

"In the teachings, is the summoning wrong? Yevon has given us this horrible burden, yet he has given us a way to postpone the death? Has Yevon really given us the choice, or is it something that we just do. I mean, the summoner still dies. Is that his punishment for getting rid of Sin?"

Braska thought for a short moment.

"I suppose – if I thought it was wrong – I wouldn't be a summoner. And – if you thought it was wrong – you wouldn't be my guardian."

Auron nodded in thought. He wasn't saying that he didn't believe in it, but what he really wanted to know was if he was actually right. Braska continued on.

"I don't think Yevon could look down on anyone who loves the people of Spira as much as the summoner does – knowing that they are to give there lives, yet they still continue. It may not be direct in the teachings, but – we must do what we can. Yevon does not command this of us, but he allows it to us in his words. It is the only way he has made possible."

The summoner turned from his guardian then and walked off down the path toward the docks. Auron stood for a moment in silence before he followed. Braska's answer… was exactly what Auron believed. He was content in knowing that there was someone else who thought those things, too. Now, he could go on without question of Braska's action; this summoner was traveling for the right reasons.

Braska stepped up to find a place in line while and Auron followed close behind, the two of them drawing the attention of a few people scattered about. They knew about these men. Though it had only been a day, the scandals were abroad. Auron couldn't help but notice the strange looks they received. It bothered him, while Braska simply overlooked it. 

"News seems to be getting around pretty fast," Braska mused. "Wouldn't you say?"

Auron shook his head in disgust. 

"Perhaps this was a bad idea," he said in a guilty tone.

"Nonsense," said the summoner reassuringly. "You do not disgrace me any more than I disgrace myself. I do not think I am a disgrace. You should feel the same way."

"I don't want to let you down, my Lord."

"Relax, Auron. All will be well. We will prove them wrong."

Braska sounded so sure of himself. Auron sighed. Perhaps he was right. He looked up at the sound of two men approaching them across the way. One of the men was tall and muscular, wearing a large collar. The other man was shorter, but still just as muscular, with a long robe much like the one Braska wore.

"Lord Braska," pronounced the shorter man. "I see you are coming along quite quickly."

"As well as can be expected," Braska said, as Auron looked over the two men. 

"I'm sorry, my name is Faanan. I am a summoner, as are you." He bowed to Braska; the motion was copied. "This is my guardian, Balto."

The taller man gave a nod in acknowledgement as Auron examined him carefully.

"You are heading for Besaid soon?" asked Faanan.

"Yes. You are as well, I see."

"I am. I may as well state my intent on beating you to the punch."

Braska smiled and a chuckle escaped his lips.

"We shall see. Fate will decide, I think."

"It will indeed," said Fannan, bowing again. "The journey will take us far. You are well prepared for what is to come?"

Braska nodded humbly while others bustled around them, making sounds against the boards of the doors as they boarded the ship in the harbor. 

"I am as prepared as I will ever be."

"That is good to hear. You are probably going along the same route as I am; I plan to go onto Kilika from Besaid and straight on through until Mt. Gagazet, then right on to Zanarkand!"

At Faanan's last statement, Balto began to laugh as he looked out over the water. Braska looked on in confusion and curiosity as Auron was alerted to be defensive, while Faanan smiled in laughter himself.

"Something is funny?" Auron demanded, a bit contemptuously.

Balto crossed his arms as Faanan raised his hands in the air and shook his head.

"No; not you. He was remembering something earlier… about Zanarkand."

"What would that be?" Braska asked inquisitively. 

Balto laughed more as Faanan began to explain.

"Some lunatic in Bevelle earlier… said he was from Zanarkand," said Faanan, trying to keep himself from laughing.

"Really?" asked Braska, while Auron just looked on.

"He… started a bar brawl when one guy wouldn't tell him how to get back to Zanarkand from Bevelle, which he'd never heard of before!" The man paused to laugh. "When they came to take him away, he said, "Do you even know who I am? I'm the star player of the Zanarkand Abes!""

Both men were cracking up now, holding there sides in laughter. Braska looked on at them in amusement and thought. Auron simply peered on, trying to understand exactly what was so funny about another man's disillusionment. Finally, the two men pulled themselves together.

"Perhaps he was just too close to Sin's toxin," Braska suggested.

"Maybe," said Faanan. "But all that blind rage he used on those men at the bar… it's a wonder they are still alive! They locked him up in Bevelle."

"Then a man like that is where he belongs," Auron said honestly.

"You are right," said Faanan, giving another bow. "Perhaps some _other summoner will pick him up and take him back to "Zanarkand", eh, Braska?"_

Faanan and his guardian walked away, still sharing in the laugh. Braska and Auron watched them go in silence. Auron shifted his weight and looked over to his summoner.

"That seemed rude," Auron commented, but Braska didn't even seem to hear him. 

"Perhaps I will…" the summoner muttered.

"My Lord?" asked the man in red.

Braska turned back to him, a strange gleam in his eye. Auron tried to decide what he was thinking, but he didn't have to wonder long, for Braska told him just what he wanted to know.

"There is something I must see," Braska said.

"But… the tickets…" Auron protested.

Braska shook his head.

"The man from Zanarkand… I am… curious."

Auron stared on in disbelief at the summoner. What was he thinking? A man that had done such damage needed to be locked away. He was obviously insane. What would Braska want with him?

"My Lord, I am afraid I will have to object."

"Then I am afraid I must insist, Auron. I would like to see him."

Braska brushed past Auron and headed to leave the docks. Auron just stood and watched him, a confused look upon his face. Braska had already reached the road before he turned, facing Auron, who had not moved an inch, a look of disbelief upon his face. Braska laughed slightly.

"I am going with or without you. You do not wish to follow me?" he asked.

"I just find this to be… spontaneous and unnecessary behavior."

"It is," Braska assured him. "Come if you wish. It is your choice."

Auron lowered his head in thought, but he already knew that he wanted to travel with this man; he had never felt so right in anything before.

"No," the guardian said. "I am a man of my word. When I pledged to be your guardian – I meant it. I will stand by you."

Braska smiled and nodded cordially.

"Thank you, Auron."

With a deep breath from Auron, he followed Braska's path to the road just as the boat in the harbor called for its departure. Braska trudged on through the streets towards the prison. Finally Auron felt the need to ask his burning question: 

"Lord Braska, what exactly do you plan to say to the man from Zanarkand? You just want to see him?"

Braska stopped in his path and laughed.

"Of course not," he said, not turning. "I want to ask him to come with us."

"What?" Auron asked, not sure he had heard correctly. "Why?"

"Someone has to help him get back to Zanarkand," said Braska.

Auron shook his head, but followed on. Everyone knew that Zanarkand was nothing but ruins now. There was no way someone could have lived there. The man was quite perceptibly insane… but, what did that make Braska for believing it?


	8. Chapter 7

_A man from "Zanarkand" could be a vital asset… or perhaps a tragic downfall…_

Lying on the small bed attached to the wall in the cramped cell, the man stared up at the drab gray ceiling, tossing some small pebbles he had found on the floor up at it without vivacity, one arm tucked behind his head. What exactly had landed him here, he wondered. Was it his strange manner of dress? He had to admit, he had noticed that he looked significantly different from everyone else, but they were the ones looking ridiculous, not him. So, he had started a fight. So what? He was famous! Nobody had ever even thought about locking him up before! 

This must be Anuel and Larman's fault! They must have waited until he passed out at training and then drug him off to some place he didn't know! They were just jealous: jealous of his talent. He would have a bone to pick with his Blitzball teammates when he got back home. It was funny though: no one here seemed to know where exactly Zanarkand was. They even laughed when he said he lived there! He had gotten angry. This was some kind of joke! Well, he was going to show them that no man could pull the wool over Jecht's eyes! …Then he had wound up here…

This place was cold; he didn't like it. He wondered what his wife and kid were doing now, and how long he had been gone. Were people looking for him? Did they miss him at all? Of course they did! He was great! He was important! Oh well, he thought, dropping his throwing arm to his dark stomach, across his full torso tattoo of the Blitzball symbol that made him unforgettable. Someone would come and find him soon. He was sure of it. How long could they go without the star player of the Zanarkand Abes? Someone would bail him out of here and take him back to Zanarkand. Either that, or his double-crossing teammates would step out and tell him it was a joke. Then they'd both have broken jaws.

His wife would probably be worried about him, he thought, picturing her, scrambling about and talking to police, worried when he did not come home. His son, Tidus… what would he be doing? He'd probably cry. He did that a lot. Jecht laughed to himself as he thought of his seven-year-old trying to do his famous "Jecht Shot", the Mark III. The boy had pouted even then, after Jecht had told him that there was no way he could do that shot. It was top secret. No one could do it, but the master. Still, though, the boy would miss him. Why wouldn't he? What boy wouldn't be proud to have the famous Jecht for a father?  

Hearing some footsteps from the corridor, Jecht turned his head to the bars keeping him inside this cell. Two shadows took shape on the wall and Jecht raised his head, groomed for image, in interest. After a moment, a cell guard emerged, with another man following closely behind him. 

"There he is," said the cell guard. "Good luck in making sense out of him."

Jecht sat himself up and peered out at the man who stood before him. He, too, was dressed funny, and on his head sat the goofiest looking headdress Jecht had even seen. He wondered what the man wanted with him; he didn't think they knew each other. In fact, Jecht didn't recognize anyone in this place. 

"You are the man from Zanarkand?" asked the man with the unconventional hat.

"Yeah. And who are you?" Jecht asked in his normal gruff tone.

"Lord Braska!" came a shout from the other end of the room. 

Jecht looked over in interest while Braska hardly turned at all. Auron came bounding in, out of breath, coming to a stop in front of the robed man.

"I thought I had lost you," he said, a tone of worry in his voice.

"Good to see you again, Auron," Braska said with a laugh. "I suppose I am a bit hard to keep up with."

Auron had not given him rest with his disapproval of accepting this "insane" man as a guardian without even seeing him. Braska wasn't sure why, but he was curious beyond turning. Something had… drawn him to this man. Strangely, he actually believed that this man had indeed come from Zanarkand. Braska had simply gone forth without his guardian, after he felt Auron was making unnecessary precaution of this place. This Yevonite priest was perhaps more bold than most summoners.     

"Enough," said Jecht from inside the cell, standing to his full height and towering over both of the other men. "Who are you and what do you want with me?" he demanded.

"Watch your tongue, knave!" said Auron in a threatening tone.

Jecht just leaned across the bars, letting his arms hang through and looking at Auron laughingly. Jecht was the taller, but Auron seemed just as broad-shouldered and muscular. The Blitz-player was not intimidated.

"It's alright, Auron," Braska insisted. 

Auron stood down a bit, still keeping an aware eye on the man. 

"I am the Summoner Braska. I have come because I think I can help you."

"Go on," Jecht urged in interest.

"You want to get back home – to Zanarkand – right?"

"Yeah," came Jecht's casual reply.

"My guardian and I are on our way there. It is the last stop on our journey. I… would be willing to let you come with us – ."

"Seriously?!" asked Jecht jumping to attention. "Let's go!"

Braska was shocked at his readiness.

"It will be a long and hard journey…" Braska explained.

"Anything to get out of here! Just bail me out!"

Jecht tugged on the bars a bit and Auron shook his head in disapproval.

"My Lord, you cannot be serious about this now that you've seen him!" he said, stepping forward. "You would bring him along? This – drunkard?!"

"Hey! Shut yer mouth! The man's just got good taste," Jecht insisted, ready to be released.

Braska laughed slightly and then turned to Auron.

"Why not? Already, no one is taking us seriously: a summoner wed to an Al Bhed; an excommunicated warrior monk on exile for rejecting the hand of the priest's daughter; why not take a man from Zanarkand along?" Braska asked.

Auron looked at him strangely, almost as though questioning his sanity.

"You make us sound like a circus," the guardian commented.

"My point," Braska began, "Is that it doesn't matter what company I keep. We are going to prove everyone wrong – when I defeat Sin."

"Are you forgetting someone important here?" asked Jecht from behind them where he had been waiting impatiently. "You can't take me along if you don't let me out!"

Braska nodded.

"You're right. Guard, release this man. I will pay."

Auron shook his head in disapproval. Braska – believed this man was actually from Zanarkand? Every indication that was around Spira pointed to Zanarkand being nothing but ruins – the ruins of a city destroyed a thousand years ago. No one knew for sure if this was true; the only ones who ventured there were summoners and their guardians, and still, none of them ever told the tale. What exactly lay beyond those mountains in the city of Zanarkand?

Jecht stepped out of the cell and stretched, his long arms reaching a distance. He then proceeded to pop his neck, his long dark hair mussed with gel. Braska paid the fee for Jecht's release.

"Man, it feels better to be out of there. It was a little cramped."

"You never did tell me your name," Braska reminded him.

"Oh yeah. It's Jecht," he said, not offering a hand, but crossing his arms in front of him. "So… Braska, is it?"

"Yes; this is my guardian, Auron."

Jecht looked over the man in the red coat as Auron stood firm, a glare on his face.

"He doesn't seem friendly," Jecht commented with a laugh. "Does he bite?"

Braska laughed slightly, but Auron kept his stare menacing, looking into the man's eyes: bloodshot.

"So, what do you need a guardian for anyway? You famous or something?" Jecht asked.

"I am a summoner. Summoners need guardians, wouldn't you agree?"

"I… guess…," Jecht said, scratching the back of his head. "So, you can get me back to Zanarkand, huh?"

"That's right," said Braska. "What do you say?"

Jecht was silent for a moment.

"I say," he began, casting a glance at Auron. "The sooner, the better."

"We will travel to the isle of Besaid tomorrow, so that I might acquire a second aeon. Tonight, we will head back to my home."

Braska turned to leave the prison, his long robe dragging the floor. After a moment of staring at Jecht, Auron followed after his summoner. Jecht, just stood alone in the middle of the stone room, his arms crossed before him, deep in thought. Finally, he took a deep breath and held up his hand.

"Wait," he called after the departing men.

They both turned to his direction with questioning looks.

"Yes?" Braska asked.

Jecht just stood for another moment, staring at them, while the look on Auron's face became more and more impatient, but he said nothing. Jecht finally opened his mouth as he raised his hand to scratch his head once more.

"What exactly is a summ – ner … anyway?" 

                                                                                  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Braska pushed open the door of the house and allowed the other men inside the spacious den.

"Well. You've got quite a setup here, Braska," Jecht commented, looking all around him.

Auron just listened in silence, keeping a constant watch on this man; he knew better than to let his guard down as quickly as Braska had. Braska had allowed him into his home? He had welcomed Auron there as well, but at least he knew some of the guardian's background. This man had been in prison and, on top of that, he claimed to be from Zanarkand! 

"So, Jecht," Braska addressed. "Do you have any skill?"

Jecht thought for a moment, plopping down on the couch; Auron stood in the corner, awaiting his answer.

"I play Blitzball," Jecht offered.

 "Oh, no," said Braska with a laugh. "What about battle skills?"

"Hey, I try not to pick fights, but sometimes it just happens."

"He means," Auron began, trying to decide if the man was avoiding the question, or if he was just ignorant. "how do you plan to defend yourself along this journey? What is your weapon?"

"A weapon?" Jecht questioned.

"Yes," said Braska. "Are you a swordsman or something like that?"

"Me? With a sword?" he chuckled. "Right."

"Surely there must be something. What do they use in "Zanarkand"?" Auron asked sarcastically and impatiently.

"Auron…," Braska said disapprovingly. 

The red coated man silenced himself and leaned back against the wall. Jecht scratched his head. 

"They're called fists. If that doesn't work, you call the cops."

Auron shook his head. Yes; this man was simply ignorant.

"I see," said Braska in thought. "Well, you are going to have to learn."

"Fists aren't any good against fiends," Auron offered.

"You got a fiend problem around here?" asked Jecht.

"So… you do remember what a fiend it?" Braska asked.

"There are a few in Zanarkand. When we see one, most of the time all the wusses make a big deal of it. We just call the right people and they get rid of it. People all get in a panic… Pathetic."

"So, you know that fiends are really the unsent souls of the dead, correct?"

"Tell me about this "sending" thing, one more time," said the man from Zanarkand, leaning to the edge of the couch to understand as best he could what he would be told, for the third and, what Auron hoped would be, the final time.

"A sending is what a summoner does to the deceased. A sending guides the souls of the dead to the Farplane – the resting place. If the souls are not sent, they become fiends – monsters driven by their anger for the living."

"So, that's why we have to fight them?" asked Jecht. "But, not only does 'red', over there, have to fend for himself, but he has to protect you, too?"

"He comes first," Auron explained, not taking kindly to the new nickname.

"Man, this is confusing," said Jecht, leaning back on the couch and putting his hands to his face.

"The journey will take a while, but hopefully, the end will bring you back home – to Zanarkand," said Braska.

"So, you believe me?" Jecht asked in disbelief. 

"I don't suppose I really have a reason not too. No one really knows what is over those mountains," Braska replied, sending a glance at Auron.

"And why is that? Though, I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Because no one has ever come back," Auron said, propping himself against the wall, arms crossed.

"Figures," Jecht said, covering his face.

What had he gotten himself into? Who were these two men really? Where was he? Could this… still be a joke? If it was, these guys were some good actors, and there was a lot of work in their story. Jecht was ready to shout and demand that they stop messing with his mind and take him back to Zanarkand, but he decided just to keep his cool… for now. He began to nod slowly as the other two men watched him.

"Okay, so how do I use a sword? Who's gonna teach me? Since I'm gonna "need" it."

"You'll  learn quickly when you find the situation dire," Braska noted. "It will get tougher the further away from civilization we get, but I suppose you should learn some basics now. Auron should be able to show you."

Jecht sent a glance over to the man in the long red coat, leaned against the wall, two loose strands of his raven hair falling into his face – which smiled with pleasure. Jecht sneered; who did this Auron-guy think he was? He was a… warrior… monk? What the hell was that?

"Tomorrow then," said Braska. "We can train you a bit, and I can pray at the temple before our leave."

Auron sat down on the couch and Jecht sat across from him in the chair there, Auron trying to ignore him while the man from Zanarkand menaced. Braska shook his head and retired to his room. These two... perhaps they would learn to get along eventually. In the meantime, he hoped he had not made a dire mistake. Who was this man from Zanarkand? He was curious to ask many questions, but tomorrow marked their departure on a long journey. His answers would eventually come.

Jecht looked at Auron with no intent of breaking his stare. Auron simply made himself comfortable, occasionally glancing up to the man who was simply trying to pluck his last nerve. The silence was penetrating inside the room as Auron pondered what the other man was thinking to accomplish. 

Jecht leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms and propping one of his legs upon the other. Sitting there, he stared through his messy black hair at Auron. He continued to sit still as he watched the man across from him grow more impatient with each passing breath. Jecht had some things to say, but no way was he going to speak, not while he could cause this guardian anxiety. Jecht thought it was funny how this man stared out at him from under his brows, his eyes so piercing that they would send a shot to any man's heart, but he was not bothered. He watched the man in red's breathing quicken. He could hear it as well. Finally, in a blast of air from the guardian's mouth, his word parted the silence harshly.

"What?!" demanded Auron loudly and violently with the force to make a grown man jump; Jecht didn't flinch. Instead, he opened his own mouth.

"What's an aeon?"


End file.
